Mask of Sanity
by eliska
Summary: Kenny smiled as he licked the blood off his fingers. "Ready, set... break." Character death, oneshot.


A/N: This fic = result of too much AP Biology. Kenny is extremely /insane/ here, so I suggest um… don't read, if it's too morbid, or something? And there's character death, so… yeah. -nods- I don't even know why I wrote this in the first place... (/is a morbid freak). Um. Yeah.

And yes, the ending is kind of rushed... /has no idea how to end stories. So, concrit plzkthx?

**Edit: 'Crazy Fak,' YOU FAIL. 8DDD -pat-**

Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

--

Kenny McCormick loved the smell of blood. Apart from his friends, women and drugs, it was what probably surrounded him the most, a familiarity. It circulated in his blood, diffused into his skin, washed over him in torrents. It was life as we know it, the liquid most important to us next to water.

And he felt it, impassively—while the adrenal gland in him pumped away more furiously than before—splash all over his tanned arms and his torso, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips.

"Goodbye."

It was a strange, but not untrue thing to say, especially when you'd just killed your own brother. Kenny watched as Kevin's shocked features gradually sank into the bloody water of the tub, drowned as the victim of a madness that was not entirely human. Imperceptibly the slight twitch on the blond's lips twisted and writhed into a smirk of pleasure. He felt the power—there, yes, _there_ in his hands—seeping into the cracks and pores of everything it touched upon, the blood infused into everywhere and anywhere. Death had long lost its frightening edge for him; what was left was an unopened box, or at least until this very moment, a mystery that felt both wonderful and terrible. Euphoric, perhaps, was the best way to describe what he was feeling. The guilt did not affect him, not really; after all, what did jail time and death row threats matter to a boy who had all the time and life in the world? And he would meet them again, the people who had died by his hand, at the gates of Hell—they could try and get him, then.

He licked the scarlet liquid off his hands, marveling at its pungent iron taste. Kyle had told him once, long ago—that day when they were lab partners because Stan was sick with the flu—that blood contained 23 elements, not only iron, but oddly it only tasted of such. Not much thought was ever given to this comment, but he did feel queasy tasting it, albeit not in an entirely disgusted way. After all, vampire bats drank blood all the time and they never got sick, did they? He didn't think it would matter _now_, or any other time.

He was insane, and sometimes thought himself as such… to the point that he didn't think he was insane at all because, as he had read before, insane people did not _know_ they were not right in the head. Did it make sense, really? The blond smiled, and told himself that it did not, no, but that was what the world operated with—lies and deceit and insanity. He was only another stick in the pile, and who cared? He'd seen too much death, too much greed and hate and anger to really feel anymore and _fuck_—he would have to see it again and again for the rest of eternity. That alone would make anyone snap.

The thing that mattered most right now was getting rid of the body. Kenny did not particularly care for what his parents would say when they got home, nor how would he explain the sudden disappearance of his brother. They would think Kevin had gone out with his friends, had gotten drunk or high; nobody in town really expected anything more from the family. It was perfect, except that Kenny really needed to clean up the damn bathroom and spray some damn cologne around. _This place smells like a shithouse. I think I __did__ accidentally cut open his large intestine… fuck._

Panting, he dragged the body out of the room, a little disoriented and lightheaded. The blood that had made him in paradise only moments ago now seemed like a hellish thing, sprayed all over his body. Drugs only last so long, he mused, cursing as he opened the back screen door. With all his might, Kenny pushed the body into the ditch he had secretly dug behind the bushes some days ago, without any real intention in mind. The murder had been a spur-of-the-moment idea, and if he'd known, Kenny reasoned, he would've dug a much bigger hole. _Fuck this_, he thought, staggering back inside to scrub the place clean. _Fuck you and your mother and all your fucking relatives. God, I wish I had some weed…_

--

"You sure you don't know where your brother went, son?"

"No, sir. I think he did say he was going over to a friend's, but that's all I know. Shit, if only I had asked more clearly…"

"It's alright, son, not your fault. Let's just hope he's only on a marijuana high at some dopey girlfriend's house, mate… it doesn't look too good right about now."

--

_Sometimes I feel like nobody cares anymore. Why should I, then?_

A finger traced over the dusty panes of the attic, and it felt softly soothing. Outside, the very first trickles of snow were falling, falling, falling. It would be beautiful, magnificent perhaps, if he were thinking about it in the right frame—but all that was in Kenny's head was how useful the snow would be to cover up Kevin's burying place. Of course, the brilliance was not _entirely_ lost upon the blond; its pale white sheen, he thought, would look absolutely enticing if a layer of scarlet laid upon it in splashes.

Kenny had always thought of himself as an artist.

--

He wondered if they would ever find out about the truth, a month later. Kevin had been filed in as 'Kidnapped,' although why and how were questions that were lost. Kenny supposed that it would've suited just fine to put 'Missing,' but also thought that a little publicity would help his family gain more sympathy. Which also meant more food on the table, as he thought his parents would put it.

_Do it again?_

It was a tantalizing thought, dangling him at the edge; it pushed, whispered and urged him, bringing forth mixed emotions. Yes, it had given him a most wonderful feeling then, when the knife plunged down onto pale skin, slicing through a warm, beating heart. The other part of him, however small, was still there—the very last of his sanity, begging for reprieve and screaming at him that this was the most absurd thing he could do.

_Just think about it, mate._

_...  
_

_C'mon. I know you like it._

The blond figured that if that was all it took, no wonder there were more insane people than sane in the world. And it did not matter, really, what they looked like—a scholarly, honest looking guy might turn out to be the next Manson. Anything was possible in the world as it was; most people, he decided, were only walking around wearing masks of sanity, hiding their other egos within. Wasn't that even scarier? It was like having Cartman not be Cartman but still being him on the inside… fuck, at least the fatass _showed_ his cruelty. The world would be a lot more horrifying if everyone was like that assumption. Kenny was glad it wasn't.

That being said, he still thought _shit, I guess it's worth a try._

If you _know_ you're doing it, you wouldn't exactly be… _mad_, would you?

--

"Kyle?"

"Hm?"

"You wanna like, come over to my house or something? I've got something cool to show you."

"More Playboy magazines? No thanks, Kenny, I'm kind of busy doing my geology report right n—"

"No shit. Seriously, though, it's not magazines. I can't really talk about it right now, my mom's behind me."

"Kenny, if this is some kind of sick joke…"

"No joke. Since when did I ever blow you off? Alright then, you coming or not?"

"…"

"Kyle, come _on_."

"Okay, okay. I'll be there in five minutes… it better be something good!"

"You bet."

_Click._

In the darkness came a smile, a radiant smile like one any happy boy would give. And he _was_ happy, in the most twisted, darkest sense of the word. Why couldn't he be, you ask? It is a free country, after all.

_"You bet."_

Fin.


End file.
